


Jar Full Of Sugar

by hellhoundsprey



Series: fullofsugar!verse [3]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Crossdressing, Feminization, Gender Issues, Genderplay, Lolita Jared, M/M, Older Jensen, Sexual Identity, Teacher Jensen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 11:54:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6373744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellhoundsprey/pseuds/hellhoundsprey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen only wants to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jar Full Of Sugar

Grape juice in Jared's glass and, after a sort consideration, the same alcohol free version into Jensen's. He hands over as he circles the armchair his student is occupying, receives a soft, "Thank you," which he answers by sitting down and pretending a lot of the facts of the real world aren't existent in theirs.

For example: that his barely high school student is at Jensen's private home, in his living room, so nervous that he almost chokes on pure air. That this is a first official date, in a way. That Jared Tristan Padalecki is wearing a mini skirt and what looks suspiciously like a shirt you would never find in any boys section.

Jensen raises his glass in Jared's general direction without making eye contact and gulps down his first mouthful of juice fast enough to make him look desperate for it to turn alcoholic in the very last second. The kid sips, too, in the corner of Jensen's vision. Far away. Can see Jared's bare knees where they are pressed together so neatly. Kid. Maybe sixteen at the most; but how should Jensen know? That is a lie, of course - Jensen had checked the records when his colleagues had informed him that something might be up. You know, just to have all the info. Could have been useful, maybe.

No, Jensen knows alright. Jared turned fifteen this July and Jensen is approximately five feet and six inches of teenage boy away from both jail and hellfire. Is in with a foot, with a mindless kiss, a hug, too many stupid words. The sad fact is: Jensen cannot possibly reject the kid just like that - suicide rates are insane among homosexual teens.

Jensen is Jared's crush, is good looking and nice and not the usual yawn-inflicting kind of teacher; nothing unusual about that. It's just not usually... the _boys_ who approach Jensen like that. Not that he ever let any of the girls push him this far, no, God no. If any of _them_ ever would have showed up on his doorstep, Jensen would have smashed a nose with his door if that would have kept his students away. Jensen isn't someone like that. He is not a sick fuck. He isn't a criminal, he would never hurt anyone. Especially and foremost a kid. He's a teacher, after all.

And Jared. Oh, Jared. He's got it bad alright. And Jensen has to help the kid. Somehow, he will. He just needs to buy a little more time. If he starts patronizing right away, Jared won't listen. Turned out great the last time he tried that one, yeah, ended up with the kid on his doorstep. In drag. Wearing the very same skirt as now, now that he... Oh, he looked. Stared, maybe. Back to his glass.

"So," and Jensen imagines Jared is making his voice softer than it usually is, "what do you wanna do?"

Jensen's fake-wine mocks him, 'Yeah, Jensen, what do you want to do with that horny teenager giving you heart eyes across the room?' and he smiles in a nervous, helpless reflex. "Uh, good question. What do _you_ wanna do?"

They had hugged (awkwardly but definitely) when Jensen had let him in and hadn't exactly expected the odd bump of something against his thigh. Actually, he didn't realize until Jared had tensed, pushed the two of them apart in a mortified frenzy. Oops. Yeah. Right. Jared is a healthy boy, after all. Jensen remembers all too well how it had been for himself to be around his crush at that age. For him, though, it had been unimaginable to be noticed the way Jared is noticed. Because that's what this here is - Jensen is _noticing_ Jared. Giving him the illusion that there _is_ something. Might be. Jensen would have a hard-on for something like that, too.

"Hm," Jared hums, very distant, somewhere Jensen still doesn't dare to look at. Imagines the kid squirming, glass being balanced between wiry hands and over a bulge that shouldn't be under a skirt. Wonders if Jared is wearing girly panties again, then feels sick for wondering about it. Then, Jared is speaking again, even more quiet than before. Maybe a little sad. "I can, uh... I can leave again, if you're not... uhm."

"No," Jensen says immediately, now turns to look, has to, _has to_ find Jared's fragile frame all sunken in on his furniture, "that's not it. I just, uh." Again: nervous laughter. "This is... This is just really..." Strange? Insane? Uncomfortable? He can't use any of those words. "Uhm. Yeah."

"... You don't do this often?"

"Dating my students?" Bitter laugh. (Jensen has all kinds of laughs, keeps and serves them. Smiling and laughing suits him. Looking handsome is a great distraction.) "No. No, I really don't."

"And dating in general?"

Jensen raises his eyebrow at that. A pair of eyes watches him closely, demurely. Jared's face is flushed. Jensen licks his lips. "... No. Not recently. 'S been kinda rough with the new job 'n all."

The way Jared's eyes flicker up and down could mean that he is checking out Jensen's lips. Or lower. Jensen can't tell; it's too quick. "What type of girls do you usually date?"

Something in Jensen tells him to lean back into the couch. Jared's fingers seem to scream for attention with how they fiddle with the glass's stem in his lap. Jensen doesn't look at them. "I kinda have a thing for brunettes," he says. It feels horrible, knowing exactly how very well Jared can and _will_ twist this for himself, projecting it on himself, but what is Jensen supposed to say?

He likes his girls cute. Petite. Fragile. Smart. Mean. The hair color is the least individual aspect of the ones Jared embodies... which would be all of them, Jensen realizes.

Another draught of juice. Jensen's throat feels like it has been worked over with a brand new razor blade. "And you, Jared?"

A gentle turmoil between Jared's brows. Then, hesitantly, "I don't... think I like girls, Mr. Ackles." Those fingers are nerve-wrecking, actually. "Not like that, you know."

"Okay." Jensen clears his throat. "Then, uh. Boys? What type of boys?"

Eyes go down. Jensen legitimately expects them to come back, to _him_ , but they don't. Instead, Jared flushes deeper. "I only, uh... I only like you, actually. I dunno."

Shit. The kid's really got it bad. 'And he's so young that he never fell for anyone before you, imagine _that_ ,' Jensen's fake-wine (unnecessarily) reminds. Jensen can't say anything.

The kid tucks some of his hair from in front of his eyes back behind his ear. The tip of said ear is beaming red. "I've never thought about it. I... I don't talk about this kind of stuff with anyone."

"I can imagine."

"I don't think you can, actually." Jared's eyes are still casted down into his drink, to his own fingers. Some of the tucked-away hair loosens itself again, softly falls back in front of Jared's eye. Jared sounds far away. Sad. Two things Jensen doesn't want Jared to be.

"Don't you have friends, who...?"

"They, uh, two, two of them actually know about the... the dressing up stuff, but..." Jared's bony shoulders shrug. The grape juice sloshes mildly in its glassed cage.

Jensen's lips are dry. "So you do this... often?"

"No, not like, uh..." Fidgeting with the glass. "Jeans, mostly. Or shirts."

 _Nothing too obvious_ , Jensen understands. "I see. I had no idea."

Jensen imagines noticing a sagging of shoulders. "Yeah. I know." After a while, Jared adds, "Maybe my friends figured it out anyway. I never lie to them but somehow we never happen to talk about me. I just... I don't know. I wouldn't know what to say if we did."

"Do you think they would treat you differently if you told them?"

Another shrug. Helpless expression. "I guess. Maybe. I don't know, sir."

Something in Jensen shudders at the three letters. Another feels too reminded about his role as a teacher. He is torn in between the two and holds on to his glass. "Do you feel guilty for how you are?"

Jared's thumb rubs up and down the glass's stem. Distraction (but not for Jensen). Jensen almost misses Jared's, "Sometimes."

Jensen means it when he says, "You shouldn't," is all teacher and honorable when he does because it's true. He knows that much, even without ever having been in anything comparable to what is little Jared's situation. "You're great just the way you are. You are not hurting anyone-" _Except maybe **me**_ , Jensen thinks. "-and there is nothing wrong about liking different things than other people."

"Do you... do you think I'm strange, Mr. Ackles?"

"No," Jensen lies. He scoots a little closer and doesn't miss the flinch in Jared's face, the glance to where Jensen holds his glass somewhere next to his own knee. "Jared, you're perfectly fine." (This one's the truth, though.)

Shifting of legs. Jensen doesn't look at the white of Jared's knuckles where he tries to kill his boner with the glass base's edge. "So you like me?"

Jensen's heart misses a beat. "Jared..."

"It's okay if you don't," his student mollifies; maybe desperate, definitely flushing anew where Jensen dares to rest his gaze. "I don't mind, I... I can be however you want me to be. I just want to be with you. That's all."

" _Jared_." It hurts to say it. Hurts more to hear Jared saying things like that all serious, all innocent. Tears Jensen apart with how hopeful Jared looks without having much (or any) idea what he is offering, what Jensen could expect.

If Jensen was someone else, someone sick and someone rotten, he would make Jared regret his words. He could and would take all this purity and grind it into unrecognizability, could and would rip it from Jared forever. But Jensen isn't like that.

Jensen looks down to where his hand lies on top of Jared's knee.

He thinks ( _knows_ ) he should take it away. Then again, he already crossed this line anyway, didn't he?

"There is no need for you to change. At all. For anyone." Jensen's throat feels dry.

His student mutters, "Okay," soft and close and a million miles away.

They agree on watching a movie. Jensen admits that he has no cartoon or animation flicks - which makes Jared scrunch his nose. The kid says that he isn't a child anymore, Mr. Ackles, and picks City Heat. Jensen refills their glasses but neither of them really dares to move once they are settled in next to each other on the couch. Especially Jared, with his hands folded stiffly where his body betrays his otherwise so unfazed attitude.

The movie passes them by. It seems to stretch longer than Jensen knows it to be; chewing gum. Eventually, and Jensen is absolutely sure that he's simply doing it out of habit, he drapes his arm over the backrest of the couch. Not Jared's shoulders, no. That would go too far.

~

The dates are irregular and always come too fast and never fast enough at the same time. How hard it is to find a suitable rhythm. How long should the leash be? Too long and Jared could be casted away. Too short and it will be too obvious to everyone's social life.

Jared frowns, obviously offended, when Jensen reminds him not to tell anyone what they are doing. "I would _never_ ," the kid insists. "I'm not dumb, Mr. Ackles."

"What are you telling your parents?" Jensen frowns along, still concerned, still nervous. Threads and unthreads his fingers, scratches at his cuticles. "Or your friends? Don't they get suspicious?"

Jared shakes his head all sincere when he assures that nobody has any idea, Mr. Ackles, no need to worry. Jared's got this. "I tell my parents I'm studying at a friend's place. They didn't even want a name yet." Roll of eyes. "And my friends think I'm studying by myself."

"You sure 'study' a lot."

"I actually do," Jared assures again, now nods with it. His fingers play with the edge of his skirt. "Really. Once I'm home, I barely do anything else." Shy but knowing eyes up to Jensen. "It's gotta be credible after all, right?"

Jensen says nothing and nods very slowly.

~

It's only fake interest maybe because Jensen always sits right next to him while they watch them, but Jared wrestles through every Eastwood movie Jensen owns. Jensen owns a lot of Eastwood movies.

There is talking in between scenes, prior to and after the movies. The two of them find out they are both middle siblings. Jensen nods when Jared talks about a little sister who gets pampered and Jared has a certain kind of familiar sadness in his eyes when Jensen tries to put into words how kids like Jared and him usually don't get any attention at all - pride and goad for the oldest, sweetness for the youngest. The middle one just kind of 'works' and exists in between, more often than not invisible.

Jensen puts his arm around Jared's shoulders because Jared really hasn't anyone to talk to, has he?

It makes Jensen furious and sad in equal parts. Makes him want to set things right, makes him want to make Jared walk right in front of his family with his stolen skirt and make them accept and love him like he deserves. There is nothing 'wrong' with this boy. This boy is precious, thoughtful, clever.

Jensen is the only one in whose presence Jared can truly be open about himself. Jensen is Jared's outlet.

~

Jared's hands cradle one of Jensen's - the one not attached to the arm flung around the kid's shoulders - and pet, stroke, map out. Jensen lets him. Jared's head is heavy on Jensen's chest like a pillow would be heavy, a stuffed animal, a cat. The TV is playing another western and Jensen's mind is in an empty state where there is no wondering about how they must look from the TV's point of view. How Jared has his bare feet on Jensen's couch, toes slightly curling, has his knees drawn tight to his chest (almost under his chin).

If the skirt is rucked up and if yes, how high? What if Jensen decided to get up now to grab a soda from the fridge? Would Jared sit more demurely again or would he not mind Jensen seeing him like this?

How could Jensen ever get up and away from here though, here where he is needed and held and kept warm? There are murmured nothings and secrets, maybe, while bullets fly on-screen. Jared says 'thank you' a lot. Very polite. Doesn't go overboard with them but Jensen knows an endearment when he hears one; knows Jared means the world and more when he hums, "Your house is so nice, Mr. Ackles," or, "You're real generous." If the boy told him straight out that he never wanted to leave this place ever again - the couch, Jensen's side - Jensen wouldn't be surprised. But that's not how Jared puts it. The kid knows how to break tall things down, wrap it in pretty little boxes. Hand feeding. Mouth feeding.

With Jared on his mile-long legs and about to put a hand on the front door, Jensen thinks about kissing the kid. As a goodbye, just a gesture, nothing big, just... "Are-" His own voice startles Jensen and Jared's eyes come back to him where they already left him. "Are you going to walk home like this?"

"No." The kid draws in on himself. Doesn't take much more than a flinch of shoulders and lashes to do that; but Jensen notices. "I usually change, uh, in the... Outside, I, I put my backpack in the..."

Jensen offers his restroom faster than he can process the image of one of his students changing in the (admittedly thick but still not nearly sufficiently safe) bushes right in front of his house. Maybe he sounds angry, too, because to be honest: he _is_. Jared always is so clever. He should know that squatting in someone's bushes is not the way to go. It doesn't add up with the otherwise so well thought through patterns.

And Jared hesitates before he accepts, too. Fidgets and lets his gaze pan away from Jensen, over the floor, to the wall, mouth open but words stuck in his throat. But he nods eventually, gets out to grab his backpack and holds it close to his chest as he passes Jensen who hears himself say, "Don't do it again outside, okay?"

Jared exits the bathroom and Jensen comprehends the dilly-dallying all at once: too loose boy jeans and one generic tee with generic sports print apparently is all it takes to turn Jared Tristan from Jensen's Wednesday afternoon date into Jensen's sophomore year student. Jensen recognizes the clothes from school today, suddenly can see nothing but Jared nestled in between the rest of the class, a student, _his_ student; Jensen's _underage fosterling_.

The earlier idea to put his mouth on Jared's now makes his stomach clench in sickness.

Jared avoids Jensen's eyes like the pest and looks like he is about to cry. Maybe will do so once he's outside, out of the reach of Jensen's protection (claws). The atmosphere is so different all of a sudden, too heavy and wasn't it so sweet only a few moments ago; weren't they _laughing_ moments ago?

Jared hums his girl-soft, "Bye, Mr. Ackles," and Jensen can barely croak his, "Bye, Jared," before the kid is gone.

Head empty and thrumming with a distant pain, Jensen fills a glass with thoroughly ripened grape juice. He lays off correcting Jared's test up until he finished everyone else's.

~

A blanket in the grass and a plate with sandwiches (Jared likes them with the crust on) together with a book from Jensen's shelf is all Jared seems to need to be contended. Jensen isn't exactly free today but Jared was insistent and looked so heartbreaking with his mouth in a surprised little, "Oh," like 'oh, that's so sad', like, 'oh, no' (but Jared keeps himself short like that). So here they are, Jared now snoozing in the shadow of the old tree Jensen couldn't bear to have cut down yet, and Jensen on the patio, bent over work and a glass filled to the brim with what once was ice-cold tea.

A pen is dancing in between Jensen's sweat-damp fingers instead of writing. Jensen's mind is trying to come up with anything, anything that would make it okay to get up now and walk over to Jared. He should be thinking about the curriculum, he really should. But Jared's feet are as bare as his legs, all the way up to where the skirt ends. Still the same skirt from the first time. The skirt Jared had lifted for him so easily, so surprisingly, shockingly. Jensen is burning up and even the ice tea leftovers waiting for him in the fridge couldn't do much to cool him down.

Jared's slim arms are flung around a pillow Jensen had provided him with in wise foresight, is lying twisted somewhere between on his side and on his chest. He hasn't made a sound for a while. Maybe he really fell asleep.

Jensen's feet are in the grass already when the boy stirs some and lets out a soft sigh. As if he woke from a pleasant dream. As if he heard Jensen getting up. Must have, probably. Jensen feels trippy in the contrast between sizzling, dry air and cool, soft ground.

The blanket is smooth, the shadow soothing, and there are polite inches between the two of them all the way until Jared turns around two seconds after Jensen lying down. Jensen licks his lips with his head awkwardly propped up on his elbow, his other hand useless and pointless and now maybe a little dangerously close to Jared's arm.

Jared blinks up at him, hair wild and skin teenage-oily, eyes and lashes so heavy with sleep and love that it's suffocating. Maybe drowning isn't as bad as everyone says.

This close, Jensen doesn't have to do much more than whisper. "Were you sleepin'?"

Jared makes a hummed sound with a lot of 'm's. His hair is stuck to his skin in some places and drapes like curtains where it's not.

"You like the pillow, huh." The part which is all Jensen and not at all Mr. Ackles puts a brave palm on top of said object. It's part accident and part plan that there is some of Jared's arm, too. "Is it that comfy?"

All innocent (and how could or should Jared Tristan be otherwise?) and way too quick, too sleepy-tongued, the sweet thing in the shadows under Jensen's tree clarifies, "It smells like you."

One or either of them shudders as Jensen starts moving. Part of Jensen watches Jared Tristan's features as closely as possible, tries to remember if Jared Tristan ever looked like this, if Jensen ever had the honor to be looked at this way, this wholeheartedly, this wanted, needed. Another part of Jensen shoves Jensen's hand up the pillow to cup Jared's back of the hand while he closes his eyes and kisses Jared Tristan's mouth.

It's tender at first, confusing and horrible in a way that makes Jensen's stomach jump, makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight. He can feel Jared fluttering, too, the nervous stilling of a breath, the twitch of a muscle somewhere in Jared's arm.

When Jared relaxes, Jensen's body goes right along. Jensen's silent but unmistakable cue.

Jensen mirrors the noise Jared makes somewhere underneath him, feels it vibrating against his lips (but maybe that's just Jared's heart) and it comes out all wrong, too old and needy, and Jensen clutches Jared's hand harder at the shock, squeezes and feels Jared shifting, fabric on fabric, but maybe that's Jensen, _he_ is moving, maybe. Closer, better; doesn't have to crane his neck so much like this, now has another hand available to touch it to Jared's hair. When he moves his lips against Jared's, their noses grind against each other and Jared gasps. Jared's cheek is kitten-soft against Jensen's knuckles.

'Cause you didn't like it,' Jared had answered all weakly and more to the floor tiles than to Jensen who had asked why he hasn't tried to kiss him again. That was last week and Jensen had thought about it weeks before already. 'I don't mind,' Jared Tristan had hushed, knees drawn together and skirt not so tented anymore nowadays, now that he grew somewhat accustomed to the closeness. 'I'm happy as it is. It's okay if you don't want to, Mr. Ackles. I just want to spend time with you.' The minor being sympathetic about the grown up's restraints. As if Jensen was the one needing to be looked after here.

Jensen pretends the mouth he kisses alive belongs to someone he won't see in his high school class tomorrow. It works just fine, makes his head spin in the nicest way. He cups Jared's face in both hands now and when he realizes Jared's hands are now clutching Jensen's shirt instead of the pillow, Jensen tilts his head some more to be able to put more pressure into his jaw. Tastes the fruit salad he had handed Jared earlier with every stuttered breath he takes. Jared's neck is damp with flushed sweat and before Jensen knows, the heels of his hands are drifting over the edge of a cotton-tee collar.

Jared trembles as if his body wanted to press right up into Jensen's palms. As if he could melt right in, stay there forever.

A faint confusion flashes behind Jensen's eyes and his brows twitch just like his hands. Something is... missing?

Oh.

Reality slams right back into him. Of course there are no breasts, there will never _be_ breasts on this body; it's not a woman's, not even a girl's, it's...

From all the things he could say, Jensen's mouth says, "You're not wearing a bra?" and hearing it out loud himself takes him back because it's _such a surprise_. A real, absolute unforeseen thing that the petite being in his arms dressed in a frilly white top is wearing nothing underneath. It's such a sweet girl, after all, so demure and then she doesn't wear a...?

Jensen doesn't dare to let himself feel her nipples through the flimsy material but her chest is heaving, jittering enough for him not to need to do anything. She sounds breathless and strangely choking when she admits, "I... I don't have one."

"Do you want one?"

Jensen's mouth sometimes works faster than his brain and it's no good, no good at all.

She nods, of course she does, looks like she is about to turn into putty and a puddle of tears in the blink of an eye but they manage to get up together, hand in hand, upstairs, bedroom. First drawer, the very back - the souvenir area.

There is something about keeping a possession of a person you were once so close with, even if said 'once' lasted for not much more than a few hours or weekends. Jensen washed the pieces, of course. He just thought they were pretty. And the girls' faces when he told them all innocent that he didn't know where her panties went - _Sorry, baby, should I give you a call if I happen to find them? No? Well, then pull your dress all proper again and I'll drive you home, don't you worry._ \- oh, those are the sweetest memories. Maybe they knew where their underwear ended up, maybe not. Jensen sometimes likes to just lie all of them out in front of him. Some alpha male stupid ego issue, sure, but it all is rather modest, Jensen thinks. Could be worse.

More modest anyway than asking Jared to remove his top with the choice of something flowery-sweet safe in his hand like a promise. More modest than the tremor bolting through Jared Tristan, the troubled breathing and wobbly knees, that obscene reminder of all of this being a game jutting right up between his legs, almost _screaming_ for attention that neither of them will give it. It's play pretend. Jensen knows. He can play along, maybe.

Jared Tristan almost tears up the top as he wrestles it up over his head like any boy would, uncoordinated and too hasty, and he wraps his arms around his own chest before he half steps in front of the mirror and half turns around to see what Jensen is doing, what Jensen wants him to do now.

Something like excitement. For both of them.

Jensen feels a bead of sweat running down the line of his spine. He extends his arm, shows her his pick, watches her lips pressing together, her chin trembling, her face flushing harder.

"Is this one okay?" (He estimates the memory of the former owner and believes it will fit Jared.)

"I.... Y-yeah, I, sure. Yes."

Her hands drop as she stands right in front of the tall mirror, but only because Jensen's hands hint her to do so. Jensen watches her from right behind her, feels her skin beaming with enough heat to keep him warm all night without even really touching her. Her perfectly flat chest is still heaving, her belly sucking itself in and out with every thin draught of air. Jensen doesn't allow himself to see anything below her navel and reaches around her to put the bra on her.

Her arms are so slender when she threads them through the shoulder straps (all with Jensen's steady help) and her hands ball to hesitant fists right next to her hips when it's almost done. All there is left to do is hook the back, adjust the straps. Jensen glances at her chest while he does these things, feels his heart beating up into his thrumming fingertips.

Even on the tightest possible setting, the bra's cups are nowhere near containing her little nothing tits. It looks hilarious in a way. Wrong, out of place. Jensen's eyes are stuck to the deep wrinkles of her reflection's frown and his fingers are still busy with the straps when she suddenly lunges forward, away from him, circles and breaks away.

She moves so fast, claws her hands all over her back, her shoulders, yells, "Get it off!! OFF!!", has the straps down but fails with the hooks and Jensen barely reaches her to help before she succeeds in simply tearing the fastener. The ill-treated gift suddenly is on the floor and Jared Tristan's face is buried in Jensen's chest. The kid is sobbing, all loud and wet, and Jensen's heart aches with the sound. His arms are wrapped around the shaking boy immediately, close and safe, squeeze harder when Jared wails louder, too, feels his shirt getting wet and his knees going weak.

It's hot and cold in quick intervals, then nothing, then guilt.

"What is it?" Jensen murmurs between petting and kissing Jared's hair, between shushing and gentle rocking. "What happened? Don't you like it?"

"It's too big!" the child howls immediately, like it's so obvious, like _how could you miss this one, Mr. Ackles?_ "I, I don't have a- It looks so, so...!"

Between humming comfort and holding on to the lithe body just as much as it holds on to him, a distant corner of Jensen's mind begins to ponder about getting something especially for Jared Tristan. Something that could never make him cry like this. Something pretty.

Jared's tears are not all dried up yet but as soon as the idea strikes Jensen, he can't keep it behind his teeth much longer. It's a good idea, he figures, hopes. So he whispers (because what if anyone heard him?), "I have panties too, you know."

The kid is flying, right here in the clutch of Jensen's arms.

This one is less tricky - it's easier fitting into something too small than trying to fill out with what one doesn't have, Jensen figures. Jensen leaves the boy for the sake of getting at the drawer once more and turns around to the sight of a pair of briefs being pushed down from underneath a skirt. He says nothing but maybe eventually stares, gets caught by Jared Tristan's nervous eyes and feels strangled with it, looks away but walks close to hand over what he chose. Suddenly though, he's down on one knee instead, eyes still pointing down, now seeing Jared Tristan's bare knees. Jensen swallows and tries not to be overwhelmed by all this, by what he is doing, what Jared is making him do. What Jared is turning him into.

Jensen holds the panties out for Jared to step into. The boy does so with his feet all tense, all elegant, one after the other until Jensen can grip the fabric on both sides and guide it up over Jared's ankles, calves.

He stops at the knees. There are lines to cross and Jensen turns away from all of them, gets back to his feet, doesn't watch Jared pulling it up all the way - how his shoulder blades stick out from his bare back as he moves his arms, how the skirt is getting caught in an almost-flash before it falls again, how Jared Tristan's fingers disappear under baby pink and tug tug tug, then return again. No, Jensen doesn't watch. He only happens to see it in the corner of his eye, in the traitorous mirror.

Jensen can't bear to look at Jared. They both know this has gone too far already, that Jensen will snap and ask Jared to go home not much more than a few minutes later because guilt and disgust about himself will settle in. Oh, they both know, but nothing in the world can keep well-mannered, sweet Jared from his most tender, honest, "Thank you, Mr. Ackles."

~

Sometimes, Jensen wants to curse. Stubbing a toe. Forgetting an appointment. Work being unnerving, colleagues being stupid.

Every now and then, he doesn't go through with it.

_Cursing is bad, Mr. Ackles._

The pretty thing sits right in the front, has lashes so full and heavy that those eyes droop so much when being casted down to read or write. Sometimes, Jared doesn't even _write_ anything at all, just draws useless patterns, doodles. It upsets Jensen (if only a little). He shouldn't take it personal. Shouldn't even be looking this intensively on something as meaningless as his students' notes (tips of pens, fingers, hands, arms, shoulders, chests).

It upsets Jensen (truly). But he never complains. What is there to do, after all? He did say Jared could come to him if he ever needed someone to talk to. And they _do_ talk, don't they? When they are not kissing, at least. Or when neither of them is busy catching their breath or are trapped in the sweet silence of a moment you will never be able to share with anyone else, could never reproduce or talk about it. These moments happen and disappear. When these moments are not happening, they _do_ talk. Probably. Maybe.

It's barely possible not to curse himself sometimes.

~

It's almost dark outside and she will have to leave soon, will have to leave her skirt and crop top and borrowed panties here for Jensen to wash them (she could never bring them home, never, but they have to be taken care of and she likes the scent of his laundry detergent, she said) so soon, so so soon, and Jensen dreads it already while his eyes are still switching constantly between venue after venue; television and her, many places on her, maybe staying longest on the pointedly prudish mouth that wraps around the ice so nicely. The supermarket had made Jensen decide between popsicles and cherries. It's simply not fair.

Jensen has one of her legs over his own and both hands (safely, god help him) on her knee. She's so warm but her nipples are stiff under the too-small top, almost so tight it could be obscene if only she acted like it. But she's a good girl.

She's eating her dessert and Jensen wishes they would have had a flavor that doesn't need a color as red, as berry-sweet and kissable as the one she paints her mouth with without thinking about it. Doesn't look like she's thinking about it, that is. Maybe does. Jensen tries not to drop his eyes between her legs to feed his lusty fantasies, to get his proof. She doesn't deserve such treatment. She's such a good girl.

Her popsicle is finished and the wooden leftover discarded on the coffee table. She hasn't even moved her mouth through the second syllable of her timid, "Would it be okay if I sat in your lap, Mr. Ackles? Just for another minute, until the movie is over, okay?" before he already has her face in his hands, her barely-there weight on top of his thighs, her warm hands braced on his shoulders. Her mouth tastes as delicious as it looks. Jensen's tongue curls against hers, so warm where she _needs_ to be warmed, breathless where she hitches, hums, tries to keep up.

He could put his hands on her ass. He could pull her top over her head and squeeze her everywhere, could get her stark-naked in his lap, spread the taste of the icy treat all over her skin with nothing more but his mouth. She would love it, probably. Most definitely. But she doesn't even grind down on his lap, is all proper and sits so wide back on his thighs that she can't even feel the beginning swell of his erection; such a good girl. Jensen could never be lewd with a girl like her. No. She deserves better.

Deserves Jensen's hands cradling her face, stroking her hair, her neck maybe, but nowhere lower (not yet, not yet, not yet, maybe if she asks him to do so one day), deserves his tongue in her mouth all soft and welcoming. Deserves to be explored, tasted, cherished, deserves to make Jensen forget about the movie completely, him stammering his apologies when it's so late already, oh no, you should get going, I'm so sorry. She deserves kisses before changing and after, deserves to be tugged into arms after shedding her soft shells in favor of replacing them with her camouflage. She beams less in them but he makes her forget about all those things with his fingers in her hair, his whispered goodbyes laced with more kisses.

She slips her naked feet into her well-worn sneakers and Jensen thinks how darling her toes would look painted with a soft shade of something berry-colored. Like the popsicle. Like her mouth.

"I've got to study all week next week, Mr. Ackles. There's a history test and math, too."

She tries not to sound sad. Jensen tries not to look disappointed (he had to deny her several times before, too, after all). They both kind of fail, Jensen thinks.

"I'm sorry," Jared Tristan pouts in the adorable way where he doesn't intend to. It just happens. Jensen is crazy for it.

"Don't be. Good luck."

"Thank you. I'll see you in class on Wednesday, then."

"That sound like something _I'm_ supposed to say, don't you think?"

Jared Tristan gives him a mocking smirk over his shoulder and disappears into the world outside of Jensen's house.

When Jensen brings himself to orgasm ten minutes after her departure, he traces the hints of cheap flavored water ice along the edges of his teeth. It's as much as he will allow himself to think of her with his cock straining the wet circle of his fist.

Everything needs to start somewhere.


End file.
